The academic world of structured thinking, rigid schedules and expectations of consistent productivity is an undeniably difficult place for those of us with ADHD to navigate. Being frequently disorganised, unpunctual and erratic makes being both a university student and an academic difficult. I desperately want to be a part of that world and contribute my invaluable insights about my lived experience of ADHD, yet I can’t help but ask where exactly I fit into it.
It hasn’t been easy to make the decision to share my experiences. My husband, in particular, worries that by putting them out in the public sphere, I might threaten any future opportunities for employment. And his concern isn’t unjustified. After all, admitting that I struggle with the conventional nine-to-five or that there are days when I can’t function “normally” could be seen as a liability by potential employers. We live in a society that tends to associate vulnerability with weakness, and any admission of struggle can feel like we are providing someone with a reason to doubt our abilities.
However, as Brené Brown in her 2012 book Daring Greatly emphasises, making such an admission is actually “the most accurate measure of courage”. Moreover, my struggles with the traditional work structure aren’t a reflection of my worth or capability. They are merely a testament to the fact that I’m forced to navigate a system that wasn’t designed for people like me. This is precisely the state of affairs that I want to challenge.
Why? That brings me to what I really want to discuss: how neurodivergent people’s passion, focus and creativity transcends all those barriers and should be celebrated as the academic assets that they undoubtedly are.
There will be days when all I can do is sit on the sofa and watch Gilmore Girls. But there may also be days when I come up with an idea that is so remarkable that it could change the way the entire world understands women’s experience of neurodivergence. In the past nine years, I have become a mother, had several physical and mental health diagnoses (including ADHD) and been hospitalised twice. In that same period, however, I have also completed a master’s degree and nearly finished a PhD using a new method of thematic analysis that I developed myself. I have also presented at a conference and submitted my literature review for publication.
How have I been able to do all this? I credit my encouraging husband and my extremely supportive PhD supervisors. But it is mainly due to flexibility. I have been able to study via blended learning, engaging online in addition to participating in seminars in person. This silver lining arising out of the 2019 pandemic has been completely revolutionary for me – and it is an example of how academia can adapt how it operates when it feels the need.
Success shouldn’t necessarily mean fitting the traditional academic mould. It should mean harnessing the amazing creativity and energy I possess in ways that make the most of it. I appreciate that there are times when I will need to meet interviewees face to face, turn up at meetings on time and hit various other deadlines. But in between all of that I should be allowed to just be. I do some of my best work at 3am and have been known to write an entire chapter for my PhD in a day. We should allow individuals to be extraordinary without expecting them to sit at a desk from nine to five.
Making the decision to write about my experiences is not simply an act of defiance, but an act of hope. Yes, employers may be put off by my honesty, but there is also a chance that they will see the strengths that come with neurodivergence. Moreover, if I want to work in an environment that values my enthusiasm and innovation, I need to be authentic. I may never fit into the traditional academic mould, yet perhaps it isn’t my job to conform, but rather to disrupt and redefine what it is to be an academic with ADHD.
My psychiatrist told me there is a massive increase in ADHD diagnoses and that this may be because we are now thinking about mental illness and neurodivergence differently. Some may dismiss this as a pandemic of overdiagnosis, but perhaps, rather, it is what Thomas Kuhn described in his famous 1962 book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, as a paradigm shift. We could be on the precipice of a massive transformation not only in the way health researchers and mental health professionals view brain differences but also in how society as a whole does so.
I feel sad that there are neurodivergent people out there leaving academia because of the stifling traditional expectations of how we should work. The question shouldn’t be how we fit into academia, but how academia should adapt to fit around us. How can we create an environment where neurodivergent people can thrive and bring their out-of-the-box thinking to the forefront of research?
It is not merely about understanding neurodivergence, it is about changing the entire narrative. It is about showing that neurodivergent people have a legitimate place in academia – not despite our differences, but because of them.
Vikky Leaney is a postgraduate researcher at Lancaster University.
